


Hit Me Like a Ray of Sun

by ani_mage



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Asperger’s syndrome, Autistic Character, Autistic Jack Zimmermann, Future Fic, M/M, Meltdown, Moving In Together, Poots is a cockblocker, Some angst, Stimming, Texting, abuse of the word baby, but mostly tooth rotting fluff, descriptive mentions of rimming, emojis, first year post Bitty’s graduation, light D/s dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ani_mage/pseuds/ani_mage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Scenes from Jack and Bitty’s relationship during the first year that they live together. Title is from Beyoncé’s “Halo,” and I think the song’s lyrics are pretty applicable to their relationship. Jack thinks so too. <a href="https://youtu.be/bnVUHWCynig">You can watch the video here</a>, if you like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit Me Like a Ray of Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is fanfic for the webcomic [_Check Please!_](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com) by the lovely Ngozi. 
> 
> You have my blanket permission to podfic, translate, or make any kind of art for this fic. Just link me to it so I can flail!
> 
> This story was originally posted on my tumblr, but it’s been given a major overhaul and expanded. When I first posted it, **talesfromthechickpea** reached out to me to offer some constructive criticism, which was very much appreciated. She’s since given this the most thorough and thoughtful beta job (twice!), and I can’t begin to express my gratitude. Well, I’ll try: thank you, thank you, thank you!! **gettzi** also gave me some really thoughtful comments on the draft posted to tumblr, and gave me the idea for Jack to switch to texting during the meltdown scene—which I think worked out really well! Thank you, gettzi!
> 
> I’m very new to this fandom, so feel free to say hello to me on tumblr via [my main blog](http://ani-mage.tumblr.com) or my [omgcp side blog](http://piewitch.tumblr.com)! <3

Jack is on the couch reading a book, Colson Whitehead’s _The Collosus of New York_ , recommended to him by a history professor from Samwell whom he still keeps in touch with. He holds the book in one hand and strokes the edges of the pages with the fingers of his other hand—up and down and up and down. It feels good against the pads of his fingers. Bitty’s head is heavy in his lap, a comforting weight on his thighs. Bitty is listening to _Welcome to Night Vale_ on his phone, earbuds in.

Jack has been waiting for this day for two years.

Bitty’s first full day in the apartment. He’s stayed over loads of times, of course. Almost as soon as they’d gone on their first date, Jack had started moving Bitty in one pair of tiny butt shorts at a time. When they finally loaded the last of Bitty’s things into the car after graduation, it was just a duffle bag of clothes, the ice blue KitchenAid mixer Jack had gotten him for their first Christmas, and assorted pie baking paraphernalia. Just the essentials.

But now it’s official. This is Bitty’s _home_. The billing address for his credit card is now the same as Jack’s. No more leaving to go back to the Haus. They’ll still have to Skype when Jack is on a roadie, but it won’t be the _norm_.

He and Bitty live together. Finally.

…

Jack has three special interests. Hockey, obviously, and also world history. And Bitty.

When they started dating, and he finally had permission to watch Bitty’s vlog, Jack watched every episode at least five times. By the third time, he had a pen and pad of paper beside him to jot down notes. Things that Bitty said that seemed like a reference to him, things that he wanted Bitty to clarify, even recipes that sounded good. It’s not that he needs to study Bitty. Bitty talks to him all the time, about everything and nothing. Would tell him— _does_ tell Jack anything he wants to know. But Jack can’t help it. Can’t look away.

He wants to know every inch of Bitty. Every part of his mind, every part of his body. He’s traced every muscle with his tongue. His favorite parts are the softest parts of Bitty. The skin of his inner arm, the base of his armpit. The backs of his knees. The crease where his bottom meets his thigh (the gluteal sulcus, but that’s not as sexy). The tip of Bitty’s cock. These spots feel so good, so smooth against his tongue.

The first time he touched his tongue to Bitty’s hole, he wasn’t sure that Bitty wouldn’t stop him. But he didn’t. He liked it just as much as Jack liked it. _Loves_ it. This small, private part of Bitty. Soft and wet from Jack’s tongue and warm.

Jack knows he’s intense. Knows that it’s a lot of pressure on Bitty to be the subject of his intensity. But he can’t look away.

…

Jack has a break after his morning skate and he calls Bitty at that time every day, unless it’s a game day. The calls are not terribly intimate; there are usually other guys in the locker room. Today, he’s surprised because his phone is already ringing when he pulls it from his cubby. On the screen is Bitty’s face blowing Jack a kiss.

“Hey, you’re calling me.”

“I got a job!”

Jack must have misunderstood. “What?”

“At a bakery! Queen of Tarts? The one we’ve gone to for breakfast a few times. On Sundays?”

“I remember the place, Eric. I just don’t understand. When did you? Why would you apply for a job and not mention it to me?” Jack’s heart starts to race and a line of sweat blooms on his upper lip.

“Oh, I didn’t apply.”

“So, what, you just walked in and they offered you a job?”

“Basically.”

“ _Eric_.”

“Well, I was baking this morning. Making those little peach frangipane tartlets.” Normally, the way that Eric butchers the word frangipane— _fran-gee-pane_ in his Southern drawl—makes Jack laugh, but Eric is still bubbling on and Jack struggles to keep up. His head feels like it’s underwater. “You know, the ones that look like little roses. And, I thought, why not bring some of these to Emma at the bakery? She’s my new boss. It was just a whim, Jack.”

“No.” Jack’s knees bounce and he rakes the nails of his free hand over his thigh. Bakeries open early, and that is time that he and Bitty spend together every day. They’ve had sex every morning before practice. Jack has gotten used to it. He needs it. Needs it to relax. Doesn’t know how he got through the stress of his day before Bitty lived with him. Doesn’t know what he’ll do when the team goes on its first roadie of the season next month and Bitty isn’t with him. “I don’t want you to work there. Or anywhere.”

“Excuse me?” 

The twang is thick in Bitty’s voice. It rises to the surface when he’s turned on or pissed off. _Shit_. Jack already knows that he shouldn’t have said any of that, and Bitty’s tone confirms it. But Jack can taste the panic in the back of his throat, bitter and metallic, and it’s erased the filter he works so hard to maintain. 

“Jack, did you think I was just going to sit in the apartment forever and wait for you to get home?” Jack doesn’t say anything, because, no, he didn’t think that. But he also didn’t let himself think about the reality of Bitty getting a job. He pushed the thought down every time because it was always accompanied by a twist in his gut and a loss of breath. “What about when you’ve got a roadie and you’re gone for a week?”

“Shut up, just _shut up_! 

“Jack!”

“I don’t fucking know, all right! I don’t want to think about it. Fuck, Eric, why are you doing this to me right now? I’m at fucking _work_. You just expect me to, to… I don’t even… I can’t, I can’t—”

Jack cries out, pressing the phone hard against his temple. He’s dizzy and nothing he’s saying is coming out right. He never talks to Eric like this, but he can’t stop himself. He wasn’t _expecting_ this. His frustration with himself bursts out of Jack all at once. He grabs his stick and hits it over the bench. The crack is loud in the nearly empty room. Guy is across the room, unlacing his pads, and he stops to look at Jack. He doesn’t say anything, but his familiar frown deepens. Jack is embarrassed, angry at himself, but he is also beyond the point where he can stop the meltdown.

“ _What was that sound, Jack_?”

“My stick.” Bitty sucks in a breath.

Jack starts to rock back and forth a little, making a keening sound at the back of his throat. He can’t believe he broke his stick. He hasn’t done something like that in years. He’s had meltdowns in front of Bitty, but not like _this_. Sometimes he’s hurt himself, but his frustration hasn’t moved outward in a long time. And Jack knows that he would never hit Bitty; even the idea of raising his hand—God, his _stick_ —to Eric startles a wail out of Jack. But the way he’s spoken to Bitty reminds him of Bitty’s first year. How Bitty’s panic on the ice brought out his own anxiety and he lashed out in anger. Jack wants to hurt himself, to run his head against the wall, but he’s aware of Guy across the room. Jack bites into his lip. Bites harder until there’s a sweet taste on his tongue—blood. Guy is standing up now and he’s moved a few steps forward. Jack pinches his thigh.

“Baby? _Jack_ , can you hear me?”

Jack is still rocking, but he manages a strangled, “ _I’m sorry_.”

“Man, are you okay?” Guy says. He’s approaching slowly, like Jack’s a wounded animal, but Jack just makes another low sound.

“Baby, are you alone?”

“No.” Jack presses the heel of his palm into his leg hard enough to bruise. “Guy’s here. He’s talking to me.”

“Jack, can you get to your car?”

“I don’t… I think so.”

“Okay, baby, I want you to get up. Can you do that for me, love?”

“I… yeah.” Jack gets to his feet, but he’s hunched forward, still rocking.

“Okay, that’s so good, baby. Okay, slowly now, can you get your keys?”

His jacket is hanging in his stall, his keys in the pocket. He reaches out and grabs them. But when he tries to tell Bitty, Jack can’t move his lips to form the word _yes_. He’s slipped over an edge, a threshold. His head is in a vice, and it’s pressing, pressing, pressing. The pressure is too much and it’s pushing down on whatever part of his brain he uses to form words. His tongue is numb, swollen and filling his mouth. He makes a high, curling sound that Bitty seems to understand, because he responds as if Jack has answered.

“Okay, baby. I want you to wait for me in your car. I’m gonna be there in ten minutes, and we’ll figure this out.”

Jack does not say anything. His face is wet. He’s crying. Choking.

“Now, just tell me, do you want to give the phone to Guy and I can explain what’s going on? If you want me to, baby, just press any number on your phone.”

Jack hesitates. The team has met Bitty, but never as Jack’s boyfriend. It’s one of those secrets that everyone knows, but pretends not to. They’ve been talking about officially coming out, but they just wanted to enjoy living together for a few months first. His Asperger’s… none of the guys on the team know about it. He digs his keys into his palm, hard. _Fuck it_. Neither thing is something he’s ashamed of. Being caught by this moment of panic, _that_ he is ashamed of—of his uncontrollable anger, of the way he spoke to Bitty, but not of being autistic.

He presses _1_. Brings the phone back up to his ear.

“Okay, baby, I can do that. Do you have your keys?”

He pushes the _1_ again.

“Okay, I’m on my way. Just give your phone to Guy, and I’ll be right there before you know it. I love you, Jack. I love you so, so much.”

Jack can’t speak, but he touches his finger to the screen. _1, 1, 1, 1, 1_.

…

Jack crawls into the back seat. He’s crying and making a messy, gasping sound, knocking his skull against the door handle. If he can cry hard enough, bang his head long enough, a space will open up inside of him that swallows the chaos. It’s like being held underwater, dying for a breath, and then emerging gasping. Sometimes, there’s euphoria after a meltdown, if he can just open up his lungs.

Jack doesn’t know if it’s been ten minutes or ten hours, but suddenly Bitty is there. He’s slipping into the front seat, closing the door softly. He doesn’t make a sound; he is calm and quiet. Gentle. He twists around, peering at Jack through the space between the seatback and the headrest. Jack is still crying, still banging his head, but he meets Bitty’s eyes—looks away, looks back and back and back.

It amazes Jack that Bitty doesn’t look away from him, doesn’t cringe. He remembers when he was a boy, how his parents let him crawl into the kitchen pantry, left him alone when he got like this. Jack never knew how to say that he needed to be alone, but that he also wanted someone there. He didn’t want his mother to tell him that it was going to be okay, to try to comfort him, but he wanted her there.

When it’s over, Jack says, “Can you?” and Bitty jumps out of the front seat of the SUV and comes around to the back. Bitty climbs on top of him, stretches his small frame to cover as much of Jack as he can. Jack feels like his mind’s been thrust from his body, disconnected and grabbling in the dark; the weight of Bitty on top of him brings him back. He runs his fingers lightly over the arch and dip of Bitty’s back, through his soft hair. They stay like that for a long time, quiet and calm. By now, Jack has missed team lunch and most of an appointment with his trainer. Instead of thinking about what he should be doing, Jack silently counts Bitty’s breaths each time he feels his chest expand against his own.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says.

“Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“When I broke my stick… I don’t want you to be scared of me, Bitty. You have to know, I would never hurt you—”

Bitty uses a hand on Jack’s chest to push himself up so that he can meet Jack’s eyes. “Now stop right there, Jack. I already know you would never hurt me, there’s not a doubt in my mind about that.”

Jack is crying now, not messy like before but his face is wet. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

“Jack, it’s all right. I’m not saying I liked it, and we will talk about it later when we’re both a little calmer, but I shouldn’t have surprised you at work with my news. I know how you react to unexpected change, and I shouldn’t have told you that way.”

“You were excited. A good boyfriend would be happy for you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself because _I’m_ —”

“I’m not blaming myself, but I do know better, Jack. And I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

For a moment, Bitty looks like he’s going to tell Jack off again for apologizing, but instead he says, “Thank you.” Bitty uses his thumb to smooth away the tears on Jack’s cheeks. He leans down and kisses the corner of Jack’s eye. He runs his thumb around Jack’s mouth, but doesn’t touch the place where Jack’s teeth broke the skin of his bottom lip. “You hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t want to bang my head in front of Guy.”

“Oh, my love…”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth. Do you want to know exactly what I said to him?”

“Not…not right now.”

Bitty sits up, straddling Jack’s stomach. He takes Jack’s face in his hands. “Do you want to talk about the job?”

Jack’s heart speeds up. It’s too soon after his meltdown to talk about this, but the pressure of Bitty on top of him keeps the panic from taking over, so he tries. “I don’t really feel that way… Like, I don’t think you should stay locked up inside the house, waiting around all day for me. Not really, but…” Bitty doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes Jack with his thighs, brushes the sweaty hair back from his brow. “I’m scared of you not being there when I need you.” Because Jack is selfish.

“We can work on that, love. But I need this, baby, because I’m not a child and I don’t want to be some kind of kept man.”

“I wouldn’t mind—”

“I know you wouldn’t mind, baby, but _I_ mind.” Bitty sighs, stretching out on Jack’s chest again, his head tucked under Jack’s chin. “We can talk more about this later,” he says, his fingers squeezing along Jack’s arm from his shoulder to his elbow and back. His touch is firm, strong, and it feels good. “But I want you to know, you _are_ a good boyfriend. The best boyfriend. I love you desperately, and I wouldn’t change you if I could.”

…

The first time that Bitty makes him Whippets, Jack tells him that the biscuit is too thick and the marshmallow isn’t high or airy enough. Bitty must be offended, because he stiffens up. Jack can tell because he’s draped over Bitty’s shoulders, running his fingers through the soft golden hairs on Bitty’s arm when it happens.

“What?” Jack says.

“Nothing, baby.” Bitty starts packing the cookies into a Tupperware. He sighs. Loudly.

“Eric, _what_?”

Bitty sniffs. “I made them for you.”

“I know you did. They’re good, but I told you, you should have used Maman’s recipe.”

“Well!” Bitty says, twang popping. He shucks Jack off his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll call her right now! Maybe she has a _recipe_ I can borrow for dinner!”

“Uh. She doesn’t really cook _food_ food. You know that.” Bitty just stares at him, blinks his eyes very slowly. “But I’m sure she’d be glad to give you pointers on the Whippets.”

Jack winks at Bitty to let him know that it’s a chirp. Bitty sputters for a moment before he’s laughing, before he launches himself at Jack, licking the chocolate from the corners of his mouth.

“I’m still mad at you, Mister Zimmermann.”

…

“Babe, I think it’s time to change that shirt. It’s been four days.”

Bitty is hunched over the island in the kitchen, peering at Jack over the edge of his coffee cup. He’s using his giant mug that says _I Like Big Cups and I Cannot Lie_ on the side. Jack’s pretty sure it’s a joke about his hockey butt. Or maybe not a joke. Bitty really does like his butt. A lot.

Jack looks down at his t-shirt. It’s a grey one that he’s had for at least three years, so it’s very soft. His favorite at the moment. If a shirt feels good against his skin, Jack just keeps wearing it. When he lived at Samwell, Shitty would let him know if he started to stink, and Jack would change. It was always said as a joke. _You’re getting_ ripe _, brah_. He’d never told Shitty about his Asperger’s, not after he’d started calling Jack a hockey robot in their first year. Jack knows that Shitty’s just chirping when he says it, but it still hurts, even now. Jack’s face might look flat a lot of the time, but it’s not true that Aspies don’t feel.

Now, Bitty reminds Jack when he needs to change. It’s not a joke or a judgment, just a little nudge. In the two years that he lived here alone, the guys on the team never said anything about Jack smelling, probably because they usually saw him in his workout clothes or hockey gear. Plus, it’s not like he doesn’t shower. 

“Okay.”

“Let me just,” Bitty says as he hops down from his stool. “I went to Savers this week and got you some new shirts. They’re in the dryer.”

Savers is a giant thrift shop in Providence. Bitty shops there for himself and he always comes back with something for Jack as well, because Jack likes to wear things that are soft from being washed a lot. Jack pulls his t-shirt over his head and follows Bitty to the laundry closet. The dryer’s still going, but Bitty opens it anyway and waits for the clothes to stop tumbling. He pulls out a baby-blue t-shirt and puts it up to the side of Jack’s face. The fabric is warm and Jack presses his cheek into it. Bitty rubs it against his face. It’s soft and thin.

“Perfect,” Jack says.

Bitty drapes the shirt over his own shoulder and wraps his arms around Jack’s neck. Jack squeezes his waist once and then runs his fingers up Bitty’s sides, which makes him giggle a little. 

Standing on his toes, Bitty presses a kiss to Jack’s lips and says, “Do I know how to pick ‘em, or what?”

…

They have a new routine now. When he isn’t on the road, Jack leaves the apartment with Bitty at 4:30 in the morning and they both go to the bakery. Jack sits at a table in the empty café with a cup of black coffee and a breakfast bar. It’s a recipe that Bitty created for Jack, high in protein and low in sugar, and something that Queen of Tarts has started offering during the morning rush. It’s very popular, and Bitty calls Jack his muse. Every time he says it, Jack buzzes with happiness. Some mornings Jack reads a book or articles on his phone, but most often he just relaxes, listening through the open kitchen door to Bitty and Emma singing along to the radio while they bake. He watches Bitty flitting about, stocking the case, getting ready the coffee bar. Jack stays while business remains quiet, stays until the line start to form around 6:30. Then, he goes for a run.

Jack misses the morning sex, of course, but this is good too.

…

Jack is flying from Providence to Winnipeg. The team is on the first leg of a five-game roadie: Winnipeg, Chicago, St. Louis, Dallas, and Colorado. Jack is used to flying, but he doesn’t like it—hates the pressure in his ears.

He plays with the spinner ring that Bitty got him for their engagement, just fidgeting it back and forth. The ring is platinum and has two bands: an inner band with a smooth finish and an outer band that moves so Jack can stim in public without drawing a lot of attention. The surface of the outer band is decorated in the raised phases of the moon. It feels good against the pads of his fingers, and he was really into astronomy when he was a teenager so it means something too.

The flight is almost four hours, but he is listening to an acoustic version of “Halo” on repeat. Bitty has somehow set up his iTunes so that the song will play for ten hours if Jack wants it to. Over and over again, the words a mantra, calming Jack. It’s like having Bitty there with him, whispering in his ear in his low, warm voice.

Knowing Bitty for four and a half years, Jack can obviously recognize a lot of Beyoncé’s songs, but “Halo” is special to Jack. It’s their song. The song that Bitty was listening to when Jack first kissed him. And the lyrics… that’s what Bitty is to him. Bitty is _like a ray of sun_ to Jack.

Bitty _is_ Jack’s sun.

…

 **Poots isn’t going out tonight so no skype sex**

_Rude! He always goes out after a game!?!!?!!!_

**I know**

_The Jerk! Want me to beat him up. (ง‘̀-'́)ง_

**Ha ha**

_So what’s his excuse for ruining our evening?_

**He says he’s tired. he just wants to “netflix and chill”**

_HAHAHAHA_

**What**

(◔_◔)

 **Eric what?**

_Seriously babe you don’t what it means????_

**Yeah he wants to relax and watch tv**

_lolz I’m sorry babe but that’s not what it means_

**So what does it mean**

_It means he wants to have sex hahahaha_

**What???????? I don’t want to have sex with him!**

_I know baby I don’t think he knows what it means either. lolz They gave you the right roommate_

**Yeah except I DO want to have sex just not with him**

_Awwwww poor baby ( ˘ ³˘)♥ Whatever will we do with you_

**Don’t know guess I’ll just have to netflix and chill with poots**

_ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ!!!!!!!!_

**;)**

_Oh baby you’re chirping me with an emoji!!!! ( ˘ ³˘)♥_

**What are you talking about? Now that I know what netflix and chill means**

_Jack!_

**Ha ha. Love you.**

_I guess I love you too even if you are mean to me!_

**So did you watch**

_Oh yeah sorry baby! You distracted me and I forgot to say great game!!! You did so great!_

**Thanks**

_You scored two goals for me!_

**Well one for you and one for poots**

_Goodnight Jack. I hope you and Poots have a very happy life together._

(-_-)

…

They’re out to eat with Shitty and Lardo. They’ve just come from an art opening at MassArt put together by one of Lardo’s friends who’s in the MFA program. Lardo has three pieces in the show, a sculpture and two paintings, and they’re having a celebratory dinner. It’s been a long day for Jack. He skipped his usual afternoon nap to drive into Boston, and the volume of the gallery crowd, slightly drunk on cheap wine, combined with the restaurant’s noisy dining room, has worn him out. 

Jack is lagging, caught between two settings—extremely fast and incredibly slow. The waitstaff moves about the room at the speed of light, but Shitty is speaking so slowly that the words are stretched out to the point of incomprehension. Jack squints his eyes against the too-bright light hanging over their table and flinches every time someone’s silverware clatters against a plate.

Jack hasn’t spoken for a while. Bitty didn’t even have to ask if he should order for him, but Jack eats chicken tenders for dinner almost every night so that wasn’t hard. Before they go out, they always check the menu online to make sure that the restaurant serves something that Jack will eat. They’ve just placed their order, so Jack knows that he could excuse himself to sit in the quiet of the car for a little while and lie under the weighted blanket he keeps in the trunk. He should. He’s been fidgeting with his ring all night, but it isn’t enough to stave off this overload anymore. 

Instead, he taps Bitty’s elbow three times, one of their signals. Bitty’s hand slips under the tablecloth and presses into Jack’s thigh. He tries to focus on the pressure of Bitty’s palm, and it does feel better, but it’s not enough. Jack takes his phone from his jacket pocket, opens a note-taking app, and types out, _need a hug_. 

He hands Bitty the phone, and the thing about Bitty is, he doesn’t question it. They’re still not officially out, but the request doesn’t even give him pause. He pivots in his seat and takes Jack in his arms. 

Jack assumes that Shitty and Lardo are probably shocked. Jack and Bitty often get together with them in public places, so they’re not used to seeing them like this. When they’re alone in the apartment, Jack is always touching Bitty in some way. Fingers in Bitty’s hair, feet and legs wrapped together under the table, arms around him while he’s washing dishes, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. But Bitty isn’t comfortable with physical affection in public, even when Jack is sure no one will recognize him. Bitty is still caught by residual fear of violence from his school days in Georgia, and Jack’s not sure if that will ever change. But now, because Jack needs him, Bitty’s arms are around him without hesitation. He leans his ear against Bitty’s shoulder and breathes in his sweet vanilla scent. Jack presses his lips into the warm skin of Bitty’s neck, humming over the sound in the room. 

…

Bitty wakes him up when it’s still dark out, even though it’s a rare Saturday when neither of them have to work. It’s the perfect temperature in the room, not exactly cold but almost. Bitty has lit a few candles on their nightstands. They’re unscented, because Jack is sensitive to smells but he likes watching the flames quivering.

They shower together, washing each other slowly. Jack’s hands are gentle on Bitty’s body, just dancing over him the way that Bitty likes. Bitty’s hands are harder, the heels of his palms rocking against Jack, loosening his muscles. He’s goo in Bitty’s hands by the time they turn off the shower.

They’re still a little damp when they fall onto the bed. Bitty is on top of him, and Jack rolls his hips lazily to bring their cocks together. Bitty sucks in a breath and grips Jack’s arms tightly. Jack cranes his neck so he can suck a drop of water from Bitty’s ear, because he wants to but also because Bitty will make that sound again.

Bitty sits back, cock in hand, and looks Jack in the eyes as he smoothes lube over himself. He uses the pad of his finger to prepare Jack, just circling his hole. The muscles in Jack’s thighs twitch. His hole flutters.

“Eric, _please_.”

As much as he enjoys putting his fingers and tongue inside of Bitty, Jack does not like to be prepared. He likes to feel the burn of his hole stretching as Bitty slowly pushes into him. He feels fuller, the pressure is greater. He draws his legs up, opening himself, letting out a long, deep breath and bearing down as Bitty slides into him. He moans as he drops his legs, his feet on Bitty’s calves. Jack rests his arms above his head on the pillow and Bitty grips his biceps, squeezes.

“Oh, baby… so good for me. Look so good under me.”

Jack weighs almost twice as much as Bitty, but he still likes the heaviness of Bitty’s body on top of him. The way Bitty knows where to squeeze, to press, to push hard inside of Jack. He is trapped in the best possible way. Blissed out.

Jack gasps as Bitty drives his cock into him. He tries to rock up against Bitty, but Jack is jelly. He has no body except for where he and Bitty are connected. The pressure is building, but it’s inside now. He watches Bitty’s beautiful face, usually so sunny, but serious now as he pushes into Jack again and again. There’s sweat on his brow, and if he could move, Jack would kiss it away.

Bitty’s hands are on Jack’s chest, pushing against him, and his thrusts are getting erratic but still hard, deep. “Can you keep still for me, baby?” Bitty says.

“ _Yes_.” 

The word is a moan; he is melting under the pressure of Bitty’s hands and his words. Bitty stops, pushes into him once, twice, three times, before coming inside of Jack, his fingers biting into Jack’s chest. He keeps fucking him, until the warmth inside of Jack spills over and his own orgasm seems to slip out of him. It’s not an explosion. The pressure has been building for so long that it’s like one step over a precipice. 

“ _Eric, Eric, Eric_ ,” he says. His arms are still above his head.

Bitty slips out of him, dragging his palms over Jack’s chest and down his belly. The muscles of Jack’s abs are still quivering as Bitty smoothes Jack’s come into his skin.

Bitty curls into Jack’s side, places a whisper of a kiss next to his ear. His voice soft, he says, “My moon.”

 

_~fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! <3
> 
> I’m very new to this fandom, so feel free to say hello to me on tumblr via [my main blog](http://ani-mage.tumblr.com) or my [omgcp side blog](http://piewitch.tumblr.com)! <3<3


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